Your Planet or Mine? (8 page)

A
FTER RETURNING
to the Safeway and exchanging the Chevy for her Jeep—where the only evidence of the halved SUV was a charred stain and some broken glass in the parking lot surrounded by yellow crime scene ribbon—Jana sped up Evie’s quiet street and into her empty garage before anyone who happened to be up could see the man in body armor sitting in her passenger seat.

She parked and shut off the engine. The garage door rolled down, sealing them off from the street. And then it was quiet. Jana was acutely aware of his presence next to her in the car—his quiet breathing, his body heat, his scent. The memory of that explosive kiss. He, too, sat silently, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Her. Cavin. Alone together.
Ay yi yi
. What about that man-vacation? Hadn’t she sworn off men for a while?

No, you swore off dating.

Same thing, Jana thought. Or did childhood imaginary friends count?

You already kissed him once, almost twice. You’re on the downhill slide.

She shook her head. No. She’d made a promise to her family, and she’d stick to it. Cavin was a friend. If he came with benefits, well, she didn’t want to know about them.

“Let’s go inside,” she said and limped to the interior garage door that led into the house.

“I go first.” Cavin slid past her, his body in a protective stance. Muffled yipping echoed from the other side.
Yarp. Yarp, yarp
. Cavin tipped his head, his hand going to his weapons belt. “What is that noise?”

“Don’t shoot. That’s Sadie. Well, sometimes we feel like shooting her, but really, she grows on you.” Jana unlocked the house. “After you, sir. You’re the one packing heat.”

“Heat?” He glanced down at his body.

The man had good instincts, if not perfect translation. “Heat as in a weapon. If REEF is waiting for us, I might fare better if you’re the one to say hello first.”

He gave her a slightly dismayed,
trust-me-not-to-lead-you-into-danger
look. “The REEF is not here.”

“Not yet. But the way my night is going…” At the entry panel, Jana flipped on all the lights until the house was blazing bright. “There, I feel safer now. Even if it’s an illusion, I’ll take it. My nerves are shot.”

But Evie’s house was the perfect antidote for stress.

Just for a moment, Jana let herself breathe it all in, the photos everywhere, the houseplants and flowers; the candles in scents like vanilla and pumpkin pie, cinnamon and apple, which, in Evie’s absence, replaced the usual sweet aroma of her baking. A pair of old tennis shoes sat by the door leading to the garage. A dust bunny took up space in another corner. On the railing by the stairs, someone had tossed a Stanford sweatshirt. It all cried out that a family lived here, one held together with love.

“When my sister’s not here, it’s like the house is missing its heart,” she said, turning around.

Cavin’s green eyes had gone very dark and soft. He’d never looked at her that way before, and especially not as a boy. It was a look she felt all the way from the butterflies in her tummy to her bare feet. “When I am not with you,” he said quietly, “it is as if I am missing
my
heart.”

If she were a candle, she’d have spontaneously melted into a puddle of wax. And if he weren’t wearing platform boots that put his mouth safely out of reach, she’d have spontaneously kissed him, too. “You’re not making this any easier. I’m trying to resist you.”

He lifted his hands. “I will behave. On the gods, I swear it.”

“And on my God, too.”

“You have my word.”

Yarp, yarp, yarp!

“Sadie, it’s me! Where’s my little sweet girl?” Jana let go of Cavin and hobbled on her sore feet to the kitchen in search of Evie’s dog. Locked behind a baby gate in the kitchen, a little tan dog with a barrel chest jumped up on spindly legs. “There you are!”

A full bowl of water and an empty one for food reassured her that the pet sitter had been by earlier. Twice a day Patti stopped by to take care of the animals and to let Sadie in and out of the kitchen.

Jana spread her arms. “There you are!” The little pooch reminded her of a dog on ice skates, slipping and skidding in her frenzy to greet Jana and simultaneously shred Cavin. Her huge watery brown eyes looked downright mean. Foam dripped from her tiny muzzle. Nails clattered on the maple floor, tapping out a deadly warning to the alien intruder.

Cavin stopped and stared at Sadie, “What is this creature?”

“It’s a Chihuahua.” Jana lifted up the wriggling dog. “A beautiful little wuhvee-duhvee,” she cooed, kissing her. But Sadie would have no part of any soothing ploy. She wanted Cavin with a fanged, descended-from-wolves viciousness that transcended her tiny barrel-chested body. “I’m going to let her down. Is your armor pretty secure?”

Cavin snorted. Jana set the little dog on her paws. In a frenzy of scraping nails and barking, Sadie ran to Cavin, who stood there in his interstellar body armor, regarding Sadie with a hint of amusement curving his mouth as the little dog told him who was boss in the house.

Jana wondered how much exposure he’d had to things like families and homes and pets. Probably very little if he was a career military man for a society actively at war. Judging by the look on his face, he liked the experience. He’d given her so much. She was glad to be able to give him this one small thing, the taste of a home, of family. In his grown-up features, she saw a strong resemblance to the boy Peter: the love of mischief, the ready smile; but there was something new she hadn’t noticed in the chaos of the last few hours: a hint of loneliness and longing that made her want to hold him until she’d melted it away.

Or she could just be searching for an excuse to touch the body encased by all that armor.

“There are three cats, too, but they’re probably sleeping,” she said as Sadie’s barking subsided to a steady, high-pitched growl. “They have a bearded dragon, a chinchilla and a parakeet. The last two are locked up in cages. I’d warn you about the two teenagers who live here, but they’re away with my sister in Disneyland.”

“An amusement park.”

“That’s right. Good dictionary you’ve got there.” She moved aside the baby gate and stepped into the kitchen. From the counters of speckled brown granite to the rich tiles painted to look like cocoa beans that lined the backsplash to the group of candles in scents like white chocolate, raspberry truffle, and chocolate chip, chocolate was the theme. Unlike Jana, who seemed curiously lacking in domestic abilities, Evie was the most amazing cook. Candy was her specialty. Chocolate, in particular. She’d started selling some of her creations on the side during the holidays. Jana kept urging her to start up her own business, but Evie was still a bit down after the divorce. Maybe in time. She wanted to see Evie happy again. Her sister was her best friend, even after all these years.

Jana used the sink to wash up while Cavin explored, supposedly checking the security of windows and doors, but out of curiosity, too, she knew.

She looked down at her soiled suit, stained blouse, the dribbles of ice cream across her skirt, her shredded panty hose and dirty bare feet and sighed. Now that she wasn’t running for her life, the cuts and blisters on the pads of her feet stung. How was she going to wear pumps in the morning? Forget the shoes. How was she going to wake up, period? It had to be nearly 2:00 a.m. and 6:00 was the latest she could wake up to shower and get downtown to her apartment to change and still make breakfast with Mary Ann Schwarzkopf on time.

As she wiped her face, feet and hands clean with chocolate-scented anti-bacterial soap—only Evie seemed to know where to find these things—Cavin inspected the sliding doors in the breakfast nook. Jana tried not to dwell on why. Evie would kill her if the assassin cut her house in half.

Cavin returned to the kitchen looking tired. “Have a drink,” Jana said and offered him a glass of water. His gloved hand shook slightly before his fingers closed around the glass.

He emptied the glass in a few thirsty swallows, then leaned to the left and winced.

“Are you okay, Cavin? You don’t look so good.”

“I believe now that the adrenaline is fading, I’m feeling the wound under the armor.”

“You’re
wounded?
” Her heart started racing all over again. “But you can heal yourself, right? Like you did for me that night.” Healed her knee and so much more. Gave her the Gift of Gab.

“If I activate the armor for the time and power level the healing would require, the REEF could quite possibly detect it and trace me here. If he does, there will be little I can do to stop him from breaking in and kill—”

“Right. I’ve got Advil. It’s a painkiller. There are Band-Aids upstairs, and gauze pads, Bactine, Ace bandages, whatever you need. Evie’s well stocked because of the kids. They’re into about a million sports.”

She grabbed his elbow and pushed him toward the family room. Sadie followed, ears perked. Hungry for fresh blood, the little beast. “How did you get hurt?”

“It was a rough landing. I hit a tree.” He grimaced. “Maybe a few trees.”

“You and trees. You really need to stay away from them.”

“This time I had an excuse. The REEF was on my tail, trying to shoot me down. I’m not a formally trained pilot, but I do know how to fly a twenty-passenger troop transport vessel. Except, I tried to maneuver it like a fighter. I don’t think he expected that.” He made a small smile. “I saw his ship go down before I crashed. I thought it was destroyed. Apparently it was not.” He winced again.

He flew a spaceship here. A
spaceship
. Cavin looked so normal, so human, that it was easy to forget he came from outer space. He was a space voyager, a galactic traveler who’d seen distant wonders that were the stuff of dreams. The realization left her bouncing between fear and fascination.

“You’re alive,” she said. “That’s what’s important.” She steered him into the family room, where a newspaper from several days ago still sat on the coffee table next to several little balls of crumpled foil—evidence of devoured chocolate kisses and the addiction Evie bemoaned constantly.

Jana turned a switch and the gas fireplace whooshed to life, bringing instant warmth. “Sit down, Cavin.” He sat heavily on the chaise portion of a leather sectional littered with pillows and cozy woolen blankets.

Sadie hopped up on the couch next to him. By now, the growling had subsided to an occasional high-pitched gurgle that the dog probably intended to sound threatening.

“Do you need help getting out of that armor, Cavin?”
Good one, Jana. You’ve been looking for excuses to get him out of that space suit all night. Behave yourself
.

“I have this.” He reached for a compartment mounted on the outside of his thigh, withdrew a small tool about the size and shape of a little screwdriver.

Uh-oh. “I hope you’re not planning to perform surgery. I give blood regularly, but if I watch it go into the collection bag, I get sick. And then there was the time I passed out after getting a flu shot…”

“It’s a tool, not a scalpel. I’ll need it to remove the armor. Normally the AI in my suit would open the seams, but it’s been malfunctioning since the crash. I’ll have to do it manually.”

Translated, it meant he was getting undressed. It was all the motivation she needed to keep from passing out.

Cavin pulled off his gloves and used the tool he’d dug out of his pocket to unfasten the armor a little at a time. The outfit had no buttons, zippers or recognizable fasteners. “Jana, I could use your help getting out of these sleeves.”

She perked up.
I thought you’d never ask
. She took hold of the sleeve so he could draw out his arm. “Pull,” she said, pressing a knee on the couch for leverage. She tossed one casing to the floor and then the other.

His leg casings came off next, then the boots, and finally the torso armor was open. He spread the armor apart like a clamshell and removed it. Jana leaned forward in breathless anticipation. It was like watching the unwrapping of a Christmas present.

Underneath the armor, he wore a black shirt made of soft, plush fabric. Like long underwear, it hugged his chest and broad shoulders. Now that he’d removed his boots, she was able to better guess his height. Maybe six feet one or two. He probably weighed in around two-ten or twenty and not an ounce looked to be anything but lean, hard muscle.

Then she saw the blood.

Wet, dark red, hard to discern against the black shirt. “Cavin…” Jana swallowed hard in an attempt not to be sick. “You’re bleeding.”

“Seeping, really.”

“Seeping, bleeding, leaking, dripping, does it make a difference? It’s blood, and it means you’re hurt.” She ran to the kitchen and returned with towels. “We’ve been running around all night. Why didn’t you say something?”

“And what would that have done other than worry you? We couldn’t have stopped and done anything about it.” He lifted the T-shirt higher, revealing a flat belly, a fine set of abs, and a bloody bruise slashed through the center by a nasty laceration.

“Ugh,” she said, feeling woozy.

“The instrument panel almost gutted me when it shattered.”

“Stop.” She held up both hands. Then her geeky curiosity rose to the surface. “Why isn’t your armor torn?”

“It was at the time of impact. But it sealed over the wound to protect it, as it’s supposed to do.”

He cleaned the wound using some ointment. Then he squeezed the contents of a different tube over the wound and massaged it in. Her stomach rolled. “You must have incredible pain tolerance.”

“Not really. The armor injected enough painkillers to keep it under control.”

Not magic, Jana thought, but almost as good.

“But I am sore—” he winced “—on the inside.”

“Internal injuries?” she asked weakly.

“My biosigns didn’t show evidence of internal bleeding. But that was before I lost the artificial intelligence in my suit.” He pulled a handful of something out of his tool kit. Several silver squares sat in his palm, each no bigger than a ladybug. “Little robots. They’re mechanical. They don’t emit a signal or pulse that the REEF can detect.” He spilled them onto his stomach. “Good in a pinch, they’re programmed to stitch closed a wound.”